


Nothin' Like a Storm

by almygdala



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Beaver Hollow, Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Hurt No Comfort, If there are tense changes I apologize I'm really bad with doing that, M/M, Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan - Freeform, Morbell, Mostly Micah's POV but some of Arthur's at the end, Non-Graphic Violence, POV is still third person though, Red Dead Redemption 2 Spoilers, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), also idk if chapter six actually took place in august, but its near fall im p sure, gentle horror, i also dk how to indent the paragraphs on this site, it's a toxic trait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almygdala/pseuds/almygdala
Summary: I don't remember if it was actually raining during the standoff at Beaver Hollow, but for the sake of the title we're gonna pretend it was. Also, I'm not sure if I wrote these characters super OOC or what, so if it's off-putting I apologize. This is my very first time writing for Red Dead Redemption characters, so please don't be afraid to give me feedback/critiques, both about characterization and my writing in general.
Relationships: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan
Kudos: 5





	Nothin' Like a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember if it was actually raining during the standoff at Beaver Hollow, but for the sake of the title we're gonna pretend it was. Also, I'm not sure if I wrote these characters super OOC or what, so if it's off-putting I apologize. This is my very first time writing for Red Dead Redemption characters, so please don't be afraid to give me feedback/critiques, both about characterization and my writing in general.

Camp had been tense these last few weeks. The gang was cornered by the Pinkertons, pigeonholed into a muggy forest, and everyone felt the stress. Dutch had lost his mind in Saint Denis, and everyone knew it would stay there, shot to pieces and bloody in the street. He had lost his grip on the gang, too. Everybody who had had the sense to go had already gone, and the void that Dutch had filled with power was empty again. But Micah was by his side at every opportunity to convince him that he was still the man he used to be, feeding him grandiose visions of money and the hope of a final escape.

Micah truly admired Dutch; he wouldn't have put in the effort of squeezing between him and the rest of the gang if he didn't. Yet there was something else he wanted more than this hollow man's approval, something he convinced he did not want and could not have. And Arthur was in the middle of it. Everyday, Micah could feel the distance between them growing; every snarky comment and every careless insult pushed Arthur further, and Micah was torn. He wanted the money, sure, and half of him was damn well dead-set on taking off with it. That part of him wanted so violently to break free of that man, to let loose all connection and live like he was above it all, as though no one could touch him. But Arthur _had_ touched him, Micah could not deny, much as he tried. And the other part of Micah- the part he hated- reminded him of the things he had told him in private, the tears he had never before shed, and the comfort he never expected to receive from Arthur, and Micah knew he had to choose between them soon.

That day came a week later.

It was raining lightly, and with it came the smell of the earth. It made Micah sick. Camp was slick with mud, and the movements of the those left- at this point, only four- packing up and getting ready to move churned it into a bitter-smelling mix of waterlogged grass and rotten leaves. There were occasional rolls of thunder far in the distance, but the purpling clouds just overhead promised a storm much closer. Micah was nervous. He knew this was it, the end. The money and infamy he had desired all his life was just a pulled trigger away, and God knows he could do that. Yet while he enjoyed the burning anticipation of a shoot-out, he dreaded what he would lose. 

Micah walked through camp, ordering this to be put here, that to be put there. He was almost high off the satisfaction of _knowing_ he was going to get away, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, baring his teeth for one last bite. But he heard the sound of hooves coming near, and his cocky smirk dropped like a weight. Arthur was here. Thunder shook in the distance.

"We all need to have a little chat," he said. Arthur's voice was raspy with sickness, and Micah cringed at it.

"Black lung," he choked out, "You're back. Hooray." Micah was nervous. He felt his hands begin to sweat. He cursed himself. 

There was a deep sadness in Arthur's eyes that had been there for a long time. He looked away and did not respond. "I saw Agent Milton, Dutch."

Abigail was okay, but Micah didn't care. He walked toward Arthur, more desperately than he intended. 

"Seems ol' Micah was pretty close with Milton." There was disgust in Arthur's voice, and Micah felt the shame burn in his chest. His head shook. It was over. 

"What the hell are- are you talking about?" Micah was angry at himself for stuttering, angry at himself that it was true. Good God, he was angry. The rain came down harder.

"It all makes sense now." This time, Arthur looked straight at him, deep at him. He wanted to say more, so much more, but he just shook his head again. It wasn't worth it. He had tried, so hard he had tried. 

"No," Micah seethed, "it damn well doesn't." 

And the guns were out. Micah's hands shook; he tried to will them to be still, but they wouldn't. He never took his eyes off Arthur. His feet shifted like a frightened horse, like a cougar ready to pounce. But Arthur was steady, and Micah was angry at it. How could he be so sure of himself? How could Arthur point the gun so confidently at his chest? Why didn't Arthur shake, like _he_ was? Why did he seem so... flat, when Micah was ready to burst- too much pressure, too much heat. A drum of thunder crashed somewhere beyond them. Did it mean nothing to Arthur, what they were? Micah looked away from Arthur's gun and into his eyes, searching for an answer, but there was nothing there. Nothing for him, anyway. 

There was a noise through the trees. It was John, cradling an injured shoulder, limping into camp with betrayal in his eyes. "Dutch! You left me- You left me to die!" 

Dutch stepped forward through the fog. More lies. Then Javier ran to the front of the group, "There's Pinkertons coming, fast!" Micah pulled the trigger. Susan fell down, bloody; loyalty was gone for good. The sound of rushing hooves cut through the pouring rain. A bullet rang out from somewhere; lightning shot from the black sky, and everybody scattered. Micah hesitated, wanted to run to Arthur, to try to say something. But he hesitated too long, the time passed, and his uneasy legs carried him away with a bitter sting in his throat and something heavy in his lungs. 

\--------------------------------------------------

They were on a cliff, now, just Micah and Arthur. The rain still poured, mercilessly down. Blood stained Micah's fists and smeared on his teeth. Arthur sat, breathing heavy and slow. There was a pause in the fight. Arthur looked just beyond the edge of the cliff. Although he couldn't see the bottom, he knew there was something down there, waiting for him. He looked up at Micah, and he did not flinch when he saw his tears. Micah went to move toward him, but all that came was a twitch of his arms and a whimper. Arthur was shocked at the pathetic sight and, even more, frustrated that Micah would do this to them. He could see the beg in Micah's eyes. Arthur was always aware of the conflict within Micah. He was raised wild, raised to be an animal, and so he was, but a piece had always been missing. Micah found it with Arthur, a kinship and a love he had never known. And here he was- throwing it away. 

Dutch appeared around the corner, scuffling against the wet rock. The shame on his face was not satisfying to Arthur. He wanted Dutch to be better. But there was no satisfaction to be had now. 

"I tried, Dutch," Arthur said. He stared at Micah, two empty eyes in the darkness. "I did."

Well, Arthur had tried to love him. But to Micah there was nothing like a storm.


End file.
